Sleepy Fox Hollow rhyolite

plucking anxiously at silverbirch's forelock, selenia cast another longing glance toward the mouth of the hollow. beautiful green fragrances drifted from that wide passage; her belly cramped with a hunger that had not stopped.

not since the wildberry fields had been stained in blood.

the trails here were thin and stony, keeping them just outside the sunspire. a wolf howled somewhere far.

selenia tried not to flinch, a shudder chasing itself through her flanks. "@Fancy," she whispered, hesitant and first, and then; "the deer say we should head south. they say it's hot there. very hot. and there are wolves, but — not so many."

she shifted. "they said there's others there. like deer and elk, but not. they're called antelope. and they're very fast. but if we can keep up, the doe i talked to, she said they'd let us stay."

they were horses, selenia knew. not deer. not bison. not elk. 

not antelope.

"it's more open there. more open than we'd like. but the ground is — she called it sand. it's soft. good for running. the wolves fall back faster. too much fur."

softly she preened fancy's mane, tugging thistles and knotted twigs until the strands were silky once more. "i've been feeling — oh, i don't know. odd. fluttery. i think i know, but —"

the thought filled her with hope and with dread at the same time.